-PS 1123 
■B18 P6 
1898 
Copy 1 



ems 



price 50 ceiits 



By cP- cF- S^id^s^ 




Strawj J>rititii2^ Qo., 
Qolof ^do Sprifi^s, Qolo. 



^dtbor of 

TotM WrecH, 
John g. Qr^Lft, Jf. 



By the Same /\\jtKor 

POEilAS 

Poems. Paper 50 cents; cloth Si. 25 

A Soldier's Farewell to His Old Fl.vc. ^2 

EUERY Df\Y LIFE SERIES 

Total Wreck; paper 10 cents 
John B. Craft, Jr; paper 10 cents 




While in the west tlie setting sun 
Drops slowly dowa enf^haated skies — 

Past dome and tower and battlement 
And open gate of paradise. 

—Bay View, Mich., page 49 



6J 



POEMS 



A. F. BRIDQES 



COLORADO SPRINGS, COLO. 

STRAWS PRINTING COMPANY 

c»«2**^ 2nd COPY, 

1898. 



\ v^o b 



3834 



10 wi pfiPvB.m?> 



Copyright 1898 by A. F. Bridges 



CONTENTS 

The Dreams of Youth - 9 

"F'orget Me Not" - - 12 

At Noon - - 14 

The Future Good - - 16 

Evelyn May Bridges - 17 

The Immortality of the Soul - 19 

The Coral Insect - 22 

Decoration Day - - 23 

Love's Kiss - - 26 

Wild Apples - - 27 

Hymn - - 28 

The Truant - "30 

Drifting - - 31 

A Scene from the Past - 33 

The Days of Youth - 37 

Kentucky - - 38 

The Wayside Spring - 39 

Oratory - - 40 

On the Summit of Pike's Peak — Sunrise 41 

" Sunset 42 

'The Girl I Left Behind Me" - 43 

Mary Bassett Hussey - 45 

The Lost Ship - - 47 

Bay View, Michigan - 49 

The Traveler - - 51 

George D. Prentice - 54 



£7 

Mackinac Island ,, u-,' c lo 

She Sleeps Beside the Mobile Sea _ ^y 

To G. D. B. ' ^2 

Cuba - _ 5^ 

Gibbon " " _ 5. 
After Awhile 

Notes - ij: 

Evelyn Ma\- Bridges - _ ^^. 
In Memoriam 



POEMS 



THE DREAMS OE YOUTH 



you may dream of the charms of the future, 
Of the pleasures that time has in store, 
Of the life you shall live that is peaceful 
When cares shall beset you no more; 



And your mind may expand, as you ponder, 
To receive the conception sublime 

Of fields as they stretch in their beaut\- 
And bask in a mild, sunny clime; 



But in the vast realm that shall open 
As you, hurried on, shall explore. 

In vain will you search for a pleasure 
As sweet as were those that arc o'er. 



10 DREAMS OF YOUTH 



How fondly does memory cherish, 
In the innermost depths of her urn, 

The dust of the friendships departed. 
And of joys that shall know no return ! 



Oh, the heart grows sad 'neath its burden, 
Its burden of sorrow and strife. 

As the soul is borne backward in slumber- 
Far back in the morning of life. 



And the tear glistens bright on our eyelids 
As the dreams of our youth we recall: 

Fond dreams ! would oblivion eternal 
Would mantle their forms with its pall, 



Since they live but to haunt, like the raven 
That sat on a bust o'er a door. 

And uttered its solemn assurance 
That hope would return nevermore. 



Ah, gone are the dreams, but the dreamers 

Are yet in the valley of life. 
Where densely the sky is o'erclouded, 

And thick, brooding vapors are rife. 



DREAMS OF YOUTH II 



But through the dark mists that en\iron, 

All clad in their snowy array, 
The spectres of dreams that have vanished 

Still rise at the noontide of day, 



And beckon as beauteous sirens. 

And lure with the songs that have flown. 

We pursue, but we find, in the sequel. 

That skulls on the background are strown. 



'Tis sad that the hopes that are blighted. 

And the dreams of our youth that are gone, 

With their presence should always surround us, 
And, spirit-like, ever live on. 



"FORGET ME NOT' 



It was a maiden's modest plea. 

In doubt and fear, in ill disguise. 
She wrought the letters patiently, 
Then gave to me the plain device. 



Hers was a life of suffering. 

Disease had racked her slender form, 
As some sweet flower of early spring 

Is rent and blighted in the storm. 



Death seemed the only friend who could 
Her hidden malady assuage. 

Waiting beside her couch he stood, 
And she of such a tender age. 



The warrior with his sword has won, 
On fields of carnage and of fame, 

The homage due a hero son: 

A crown and an immortal name; 



'FORGET ME NOT I3 



And gifted ones their deeds sublime 
Have piled to over-arching skies 

As monuments to stand when time, 
As an expiring ember, dies. 



This was the only price she brought, 
Her utmost meed, a sacred trust, 

The simple words, "Forget me not," 
To buy remembrance from the dust. 



But God is good. She blooms, I know, 
In maidenhood more pure and bright 

For suffering's deep overflow 

In those dark years to her as night. 



She lives — I trust, as some rare rose 

To ripen in the summer sun. 
Dowered with the wealth that will disclose 

As the swift seasons onward run, 



The fragrance of a rounded life — 

A greater sum than once she brought- 

With love and trust and good deeds rife: 
The world may then forget her not. 



AT NOON 



I bask within the noontide glow 
Beside a merry brook, whose low, 

Sweet voice distinct 1 hear, 

As of a naiad near. 



The hush of nature is as if 

The moonlight flooded vale and cliff 
With lustre, dim and white. 
At the still noon of night. 



A wanderer, whose feet have pressed 
A foreign soil, I come to rest 

Beneath the same blue sky 

I loved in days gone by. 



As from an ever sunny clime, 
The memories of the olden time 
Throng round me, overcome 
With a great grief and dumb. 



AT NOON 15 



Ah, swift is time's unceasing flight ! 
The blush of Morning's roseate light 

Is faded oversoon 

In the bright glare of Noon. 



And swift the deepening shades come on, 
When, dropping down the sky, the sun 

Knows the eclipse of Night 

In lands that know no lierht. 



THE FUTURE GOOD 



TO MY WIFE 



XHE future stores a wealth of good, 
Hidden in mystery though it be, 
To dower us with, if we but wait. 
Biding the season patiently. 



It will not be surcease from ills 
To which our fallen flesh is heir; 

Sickness and sorrow, pain and death- 
The common lot — is ours to share. 



And yet I somehow trust erelong 

The clouds will break, the sun will shine, 

The dense, dank air that now we breathe 
Be sweet to drink as mellow wine; 



When Health, red-lipped and strong, shall sound 
Her challenge through the winding horn, 

Greeting upon the dewy hills, 

As fresh and fair, the smiling morn. 




EVELYN MAY BRIDGES, AGED NINE YEARS 



A VISION 
I SMILE as I dream a fairy dream. 

As floating down life's silvery stream 

In rapturous vision behold I see 

An angel of light approaching me 

With folded wings and outstretched hands, 

While I arise at his commands. 

Does the angel point his finger down? 

Oh, no; in his hands I see a crown 

On which my name is carved in gold. 

'Tis a lovely vision to behold ! 

Oh, let me see when death comes on 
This angel of light and radiant crown. 
And know that there awaiteth me 
A fadeless immortality. 



EVELYN MAY BRIDGES 

OBIT JANUARY 4, 1 894, JN HER SIXTEENTH YEAR 

QHE saw, through pearly gates that opened wide, 
The sea of crystal and the great white throne, 
And him, the world's Redeemer crucified, 
Seated in glorious majesty thereon. 



She heard, like voice of many waters grand, 
The glad new song the harpers sang of old. 

That song her joyous heart could understand. 
Though angels wondered as the anthem rolled. 



And then she heard the echoes of the strife 
The hosts of God are waging here with sin, 

A conflict ancient as our race's life, 
And doubtful often, though the Lord must win. 



"Not now, O God, the crowning hour delay; 

Let me still share the battle's dire distress. 
Still bear the heat and burden of the day; 

And yet thy will be done, thy name I bless." 



(S EVELYN MAY BRIDGES 



l^o\vin<^ unto thy gracious will today, 

O God, we bear the cross she fain had borne; 

For her descending mantle still we pray, 
And for her spirit, scarred and battle-worn. 



THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 



At evenings's hour of solitude, when man 
J Is wont to gaze entranced upon the stars, 
Shining eternal in the vaulted sky, 
And smile to think that, when their light is dim, 
He yet shall live, there comes the cheerless thouglit 
That his fond hope of immortality 
Perhaps is baseless and at best a dream. 
And on the morrow's dawn, when busy care 
Intrudes, and chains his mind to grosser things. 
The thought is with him still. 

The swift years pass. 
In flight unnoticed leveling hills and vales 
That were earth's glory in her vanished youth. 
And nature's hint of immortalit)-. 
Centuries come and go, time's corridors 
No longer echoing to their muffled tread, 



20 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 



And from their dark and voiceless tomb return, 
Though importuned, no answering word or sign; 
What time the everlasting mountain, hoary 
With the snow-fall of ages long forgot. 
Wearing upon its rugged brow, deep-notched. 
The royal signet of eternity. 
Soon, level with the lowly plain, shall rear 
No more its pillared form God's monument. 
Why, then, should he, frail, trembling child of dust, 
When suns have run their race, and starry skies 
Are robed in ebon darkness, and winged Time 
Has dropped his glass and scythe, as, disenthroned 
And sceptreless, he lies amid the wreck 
That marked his lordly reign — why should he 
Hope to live? Man's works die with puny hands 
That made them. God's material worlds endure 
Their day and are no more. Annulling fate's 
Decree, can he alone live on, when all 
Beside have perished, in some new, far world. 
More bright and beautiful than this, the home 
Of angels and of God? 

A voice within, 
That reason cannot still, says: Man 
Shall live forever! It is dust returns to dust. 
The soul that beats its wings, a prisoned bird, 
Against the barriers of its clay-built cell. 
Is not of earth. Its far-off home, once seen 
By exiled seer, is God's own paradise. 
There, when prison doors give way, and narrow 



IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 21 



Walls lie heaped in mouldering ruins, fetterless 
And free, its snow-white plumage it shall bathe 
In sea of crystal near the great white throne. 
And from the midst of life's celestial tree, 
When time is o'er and all its works forgot, 
Its songs of praise rejoicing it shall sing, 
Its long-lost, ancient liberty restored. 



THE CORAL INSECT 



I INNOTICED in its fall, the insect dies 

Within its mausoleum vast and proud — 
A world upon whose lifted surface rise 

Tall mountain chains that overtop the cloud: 



A new world, of lakes, and rivers strong 

And swift, forests and the far reach of plain, 

With undiscovered wealth awaiting long 
A new Columbus o'er an unknown main. 



Ah, they forget who tread the beaten ways 
Of thickly peopled realms, in after-time, 

To award the insect its meed of praise 

That wrought and perished in its work sublime. 



And it is well. The lakes and rivers — earth. 
With all her many wonders, can but tell 

Of God supreme whose fiat gave them birth. 
Rebuked is unbelief. And it is well. 



DECORATION DAY 



Xi AR distant be the ungrateful day 

When to these shrines no more repair 
The sons of freedom to display 

Their offering of praise and prayer: 



Praise for the dead, whose heart's warm blood 
Was poured, a rich libation, forth. 

To save our land its greatest good — 
A place among the powers of earth; 



Prayer for the cause for which they died. 
That rare bequest from sire to son 

From days in which men's souls were tried. 
Of Concord and of Lexineton. 



They guarded well the sacred trust; 

They deemed not life too great a price; 
They honored sleep in silent dust, 

Their country's common sacrifice. 



24 DECORATION DAY 



They sleep in silence. It is well. 

The fight is fought, the victory won. 
Then twine the wreath of immortelle 

Upon their monumental stone. 



Nature is gay with floral wreath 
In many a famed, historic spot. 

Where war's dread carnival of death 
Was held in days that now are not; 



While over all the prosperous land 
Peace broods, a dove upon her nest, 

Her bounties thick on every hand, 
And her mild reign supremely blest. 



And they who, in unhappy strife. 

On many a sanguinary field. 
With holocaust of human life. 

Maintained the cause they would not yield, 



Now clasp above the serried graves 
The hands of brothers reconciled. 

The melancholly cypress waves 

Above a dead past, fierce and wild, 



DECORATION DAY 2$ 



But buried now no more to rise, 
With war's stern, terrible array 

Breaking the calm of peaceful skies, 
Dimming the brightness of the day. 



LOVE'S KISS 



A SCENE FROM THE LITTLE MINISTER 

I OVE'S kiss, that once Endymion woke, 

Transformed, the gypsy felt upon her lips 

In that brief moment of eclipse 
When tender words her own true lover spoke. 
He loved her for herself: a charm that broke 

The potent spell that bound her unto one 

Whose flattery to vilest purpose run. 
Emotions holiest all her utterance choke! 

She knew his voice. No more an elfish sprite, 

But woman, gracious, pure, in all men's sight! 
Nor gold, nor cunning speech of flattery 

Can win one sigh of all that heave unsought 

When he, true knight, is come. Love is unbought. 
He wears no fetters and is spirit-free. 



WILD APPLES 



JDUNA'S apples — boon to gods beguiled 
By age toward death's unpitying grasp. 

Fruit poor Tantalus sought in vain to clasp, 
By winds yet blown to nature's savage child. 
Benignant gift to gods and man, run wild 

From some walled orchard of forgotten time. 

Grown ripe in autumn's late, sharp rime. 
Frost-painted many-crimson dyed, yet mild 

With summer's harvestfields and banks of sward. 

Acrid and sour, to pampered taste abhorred. 
The wild birds drink your nectared cup divine. 

The squirrel's feast, the wild-eyed gleaner's joy. 

Ambrosia keen to wandering truant boy. 
Whose clubs adorn your boughs — as once did mine. 



HYMN 



TO BE SUNG AT THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH 



A CCEPT, O Lord, the offering 
7^ Which to thine altars now we bring, 
Our handiwork, this temple fair. 
This house of mingled praise and prayer. 



Accept our hearts, eternal King, 
Here offered with this offering. 
In grateful homage at thy throne 
Bowing, and bowing there alone. 



In answer, let baptismal fire 
Consume the dross of base desire. 
Our hearts and temple both make meet 
For thine indwelling, calm and sweet. 



So shall thy saints behold thy face. 
And sinners marvel at thy grace, 
While at the gospel's trumpet call, 
For mercy at thy feet they fall. 



HYMN 29 



Build in our hearts thy temple, Lord, 
As here we listen to thy word; 
And, when in death we hence remove, 
Receive us to thyself above. 



THE TRUANT 



"p^AR in the distant, dim recess, 

Adown dusk aisles all cool and green, 
Where dewdrops sparkle in the sheen 
Of summer sunbeam's soft caress; 



Drinking the air, as drinking wine. 

Rich with the breath of the orange flower, 
That blooms and blows in the airy bower 

Deep in the forest of palm and pine, 



Sweet Fancy wanders, a wayward child. 
Whose every nature spurns control 
And will not stay; within whose soul 

There is a love, intense and wild. 



Through rare elysian groves to roam; 
And, basking in the sunbeam's glow. 
To feel the warm south-breezes blow 

Blandly around its green-wood home. 



DRIFTING 



TO MY WIFE AFTER A SUMMERS RESIDENCE IN THE 
COUNTRY 

"n RIFTING, as drift the barks at sea 
Without a sail to woo the wind, 
We leave the quiet port behind, 
Borne by the tide of destiny. 



Those days were days of peace. The world 
Unheeded moved its ample rounds. 
And kept its own appointed bounds. 

Its win^s in i::^entle slumber furled. 



The summer tarried all the while, 

With song of bird and wealth of bloom 
And zephyrs laden with perfume. 

The weary senses to beguile. 



I know not what there is in store 
Of narrow strait or placid bay 
Awaiting us upon the way, 

E'er we asfain shall touch the shore. 



32 DRIFTING 



I only know our Father's hand 

Is guiding us through storm and calm, 
By desert isles and isles of palm, 

To anchor in the better land. 



A SCENE FROM THE PAST 



A BEAUTIFUL scene from the realm of the past 
/ Arises tonight to my gaze, 
As I hear from without the deep sigh of the blast, 
And sit with my eyes in a revery cast 
On the fire with its flickering- blaze: 



A cottage embowered on the brow of a hill, 

'Mid cloverfields blooming and gay; 
Near, an orchard appareled in vernal hue still. 
And the mimical falls of a petulant rill, 
That dashes in beauty away. 



Beyond, the dense folds of a forest are seen. 

There are trees richly vestured in bloom. 
And some that are clothed in a mantle of green. 
Whose branches the sunlight does shimmer between, 

Dispelling the shadow of gloom. 



34 A SCENE FROM THE PAST 



Fair scene! to my heart thou art precious tonight; 

For 1 think of the time when a boy 
I roamed thy greenwood with a spirit as light 
As the zephyr that fondles the lily so white, 

In the rapture of innocent joy. 



There are meadows and fields in this broad world of 
ours 

More beautiful far, it may be, 
Where the aureate bloom of the tropical bowers. 
And the rarest aroma of sweet-laden flowers 

Entice the voluptuous bee. 



There are streamlets that sparkle more bright in the 
sun 

Through their border of cedar and pine; 
Over Caspian sands in their journey they run, 
By the home of the children all swarthy and dun, 

Beside the meridian line. 



The forests that clamber the mountain's steep side. 

Where slumbers the cyclone in wrath. 
And the monarch of storms in his anger deride. 
Are mightier far in their grandeur and pride, 
With their top for the thunderer's path. 



A SCENE FROM THE PAST 35 



But I love thee the more as thy green mossy shore 

Again in my vision I see, 
Thou streamlet that gladdened my being of yore, 
And spoke to my heart with a mystical lore, 

Thy song ever boundless and free. 



And dearer the scene that now rises to view 

Than the brightest that day-dreams disclose: 
The wood and the orchard, the meadowland, too. 
The cot and the stream and the canopy blue. 
With its fringe like the blush of the rose. 



For the loved and the lost of the years that are gone 

Have endeared every spot I behold. 
They once gathered the flowers that bloomed on the 

lawn 
And rambled with mc in the light of the dawn 

When the gates of the morn were as gold. 



I may roam nevermore through thy wood as of yore, 

When life was a fairyland dream; 
On the brow of the hill stands the cottage no more, 
And the spoiler has altered the rill's mossy shore. 

Where brightly its waters did gleam. 



36 A SCENE FROM THE PAST 



But ever will memory fondly uphold 

This beautiful scene to my gaze; 
When my sight shall grow dim, and I feeble and old, 
It still shall appear, with its limnings of gold, 

Through the gloom of the gathering haze. 



THE DAYS OF YOUTH 



The long, long days that nevermore 

Shall vex us with their tardy flight. 
I would their journey were not o'er; 
They would not vex, I know, tonight. 



KENTUCKY 



I/ENTUCKY, dark and bloody ground! Thy fame 
J Rests not more surely on thy glorious past, 
Though first to grave thy many-honored name 

Beside the deathless sisterhood's which cast 
Off England's yoke and gave to Freedom birth, 

Than in the love thy children bear thee now, 
Where'er they wander o'er this beauteous earth, 

The light of morning on thy lifted brow. 
Thy bluegrass nods to winds that gently blow; 

Fair Ceres walks amid thy fields of wheat; 

But all the world pays homage at thy feet 
For greater crop than rain and sun may grow: 
For high, heroic souls that dared to do, 
And, daring still, are noble still and true. 



THE WAYSIDE SPRING 



A MOMENT at the wayside spring 
J The pilgrim pauses in his march; 
He hears the murmuring waters sing, 

He sees the palm tree's clustering arch: 
Within the cooling shade he knows 
His weary limbs may find repose, 
His thirst be slaked while drinking deep 
From the pure fountain's mossy keep. 



What though his onward pathway lie 

Far reaching through the desert sand, 
The fervor of a brazen sky, 

The subtle foe, with steady hand, 
And strong of heart and firm of will, 
He meets, and bravely meets, for still 
The memory of that moment cheers 
Through all the sordid strife of years. 



ORATORY 



THE look, the voice, the word of fire: 
These shall outlast the fleeting breath, 
And live, though all beside expire, 
Superior to the power of death. 



ON THE SUMMIT OF PIKE'S PEAK 



SUNRISE 

QTILLNESS profound ! P^xpectancy, tip-toe 
On lone, far heights, with undiverted gaze, 

Scans in the slumbering east as yet the day's 
Dark portals. A moment more, and lo. 
Ushering in the dawn, the herald stars grow 

Dim. Throughout the brooding, silent sky. 

Night falters. Wan and vague, a ghost flits by! 
What time the foot-hill cities sleep below. 

With signal fire the mountain's brow is kissed, 

Above dense, billowy banks of mist. 
PLastward, like an emerald sea, the plains unrolled. 

Lapping bold Cheyenne's utmost boundary walls; 

And yonder, where the sunlight later falls, 
The path of Fremont to the land of gold. 



ON THE SUMMIT OF PIKE'S PEAK 



II 



SUNSET 

Though raging storm beset our upward way, 
The sun shines brightly on the summit still, 
Unfaltering as at fervid noon today. 

Now lengthening shadows bring a sense of chill 
From mountain ranges towering in the west. 

With passing of the day the thin air stirs. 
A far cloud seems an island of the blest. 

Yet at our feet, as those of worshipers 
At fire's high altars, day's last parting beam. 

Its signal burns 'mid Gray's eternal snows. 

On Long's Peak like an altar flame it glows. 
A thousand watch-fires, answering, flash and gleam 
On towers and battlements of Snowy Range, 
That lift, a cloudland city, weird and strange. 



"THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME" 

T. M. R. — E. B. 
MAY l6, l866~-MAV i6, 1886 



'Doll back the world to other days. 

) From northland and from southland come 

Sounds of shrill fife and rattling drum. 
The atmosphere with sulphurous haze 



Of war is charged. Then comes the end, 

When peace, white-winged, broods o'er the land. 
And warring states in one strong band 

Indissoluble are joined to blend. 



Spring loads the Mid-may air with song. 

Sweet scented with the breath of flowers ; 

And life and hope fill all the hours 
With joyousness awaited long; 



For two hearts beat as one that beat 
Uncertain of that happy day 
That waited but the smiling May 

When war's dread work should be complete. 



44 "THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME 



"The girl I left behind me:" well 

The tune they played who gathered then, 
And, playing it, lived o'er again, 

More vividly than words can tell. 



Their own romances overpast. 

That tune, he plays it yet who led 

That self-same girl, with cheeks blush-red, 

From plighted troth to ties that last. 



Now by his side she helps to fight 
Life's various battles, one by one, 
What though full twenty years have flown, 

O'er-coming by her firm faith's might. 



TO MARY BASSETT HUSSEY 



I 



\A)HAT can I render unto thee, to whom I ov 
A debt far-reaching as eternity? 
Thou, in my callow youth, the rule of three 

Didst teach me, none too apt to learn, I trow. 

I knew not, halt and blind, the way to go, 

A dreamer in those days. Thy guidance true 
Led me to paths the master minds pursue 

Who lift mankind from wretchedness and woe. 

What better service than to strive therein 
To walk unfalt'ring my appointed days, 
My sure reward the grateful meed of praise 

Of lives rescued from thralldom unto sin? 

I owe life's first aspirings unto thee, 

A debt as lasting as eternity. 



46 MAKY 13ASSETT IIUSbEY 



II 



How beautiful upon the mountain height 
The feet of peace's holy messengers! 
Lo, such the teacher's ministry who stirs 

The heart as well as mind to love the light. 

Evangel thou in God's all-searching sight. 
We learned of thee, who gave the lesson heed: 
Art's highest mission leads to noblest deed, 

And lifts the soul in some supremer flight 

To heights where still the watchword is, Aspire! 
Not art for art's sake; no, but art to bless 
Lost man yet groping after happiness. 

Thy lips were touched with old prophetic fire. 

In minds aspiring and in lives rescued 

Is thy reward, God's ser\'ant, faithful, good. 



THE LOST SHIP 



QAIL on, proud ship, thy hull is firm, 

Thy masts ascend on high, 
And proudly on the breath of morn 

Thy gilded pennants fly. 
For thou art built, o'er raging seas, 
Begirt with foam, to glide at ease, 
And meet, careering on thy path, 
The sullen tempest in his wrath. 



Sail on, sail on, the storm's ahead, 

It rises now to vdew; 
But vain shall be its boasted power. 

For thou art staunch and true. 
Thy prow shall cut the seething tide. 
The while loud billows lash thy side, 
And, safe at last, a sunny shore 
-Shall be thy harbor evermore. 



THE LOST SHIP 



Sail on — but lo, the freighted sky 

And heaving- ocean meet ! 
The crested billows round thee weave 

A foamy winding-sheet. 
Alas, in vain thy strength is now, 
Thy cedar spars, thy brazen prow; 
No hand can help, no power can save: 
Before thee is thy yawning grave. 



The angry winds at length shall own 

The Master's voice divine. 
And on a calm, untroubled sea 

The sun again shall shine; 
While other ships shall proudly glide 
Above the smoothly flowing tide; 
But never on the boundless main 
Shall thy white sails be spread again. 



Sail on, sail on, O ship of life ! 

Thou, too, art built to glide 
Where raging billows white with foam 

Shall vainly lash thy side. 
And thou shalt brave the storm of death, 
To perish in its tempest breath, 
While dark oblivion's waves shall close 
Above thee in thy long repose. 




On Maninette Trail 



BAY VIEW, MICHIGAN 



^AVE-FASHIONED in dim ages past. 

Thy terraces alternate rise 
Above the cahii bay's broad expanse, 
True mirror of the chanceful skies. 



The bland winds blow from off the lake, 
Through forests dark w'ith balsam fir, 

Life's racy wine to warm the heart. 
To quickened beat the pulses stir. 



I love along thy curving beach. 
With gems of coral thickly strown, 

To stray, at twilight's mystic hour. 
And muse upon thy past unknown. 



The legends of the Ottowa 

Still linger round us, weird and true. 
As on the waters of the bay 

The redman in his birch canoe. 



50 BAY VIEW, MICHIGAN 



In groves the spires of learning rise, 
Religion's holy shrines are set; 

And maidens con their lessons o'er 
Along the trail of Pere Marquette; 



While in the west the setting sun 
Drops slowly down enchanted skies 

Past dome and tower and battlement 
And open gate of paradise! 



THE TRAVELER 



TO ACCOMPANYING A VOLUME OF BAYARD TAYLOR S 

POEMS 



UE journeyed far to east and west, 
) Nor found at any place a rest, 
An answer to his spirit's quest. 



He saw, on Norway's forests old, 
The midnight sun's effulgent gold. 
Whose charms his master pen has told. 



He heard, beside the Golden Horn, 
The muezzin's voice at early morn, 
A bug-le call to hearts forlorn. 



On Tadmoor's weed-grown site he stood; 
He wandered by the Nile's dark flood; 
He dwelt in desert solitude. 



He felt on Calvary's haunted hill 

The Lord Christ's presence lingering stil 

The sad world's aching void to fill. 



52 THE TRAVELER 



And, in his home's enchanted land, 

He walked, with restless feet, the strand 

Of sunset seas serene and bland. 



He saw the miners delve for gold, 

Obedient to the impulse old. 

And heard at night their stories told. 

He climbed Sierra's heights to wait, 
With mind awe-struck and heart elate. 
For sunset at the Golden Gate. 



Yet, in his weary marches, oft 
He saw the spires of Cedarcroft, 
And heard home voices, low and soft. 

A little while he lingered here 

With those whose love he held most dear, 

In summer sunshine all the year. 

To groups of listening friends he told 

A wealth of stories manifold 

Of earth's far ends, both new and old; 

And in the brightly pictured page 

Of glowing verse, a heritage 

He left mankind from age to age. 



THE TRAVELER 53 



(We read it now for her sweet sake, 
Under the charm fond memories wake, 
Whose gracious spell we would not break.) 

Then, weary of brief days of rest, 
He left alone on unknown quest — 
God grant, to Islands of the Blest. 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE 



I WREATHE the immortelle upon the cold 
Brow art has shaped in marble, to bespeak 
The worth of thy warm heart and master mind, 
And to transmit undimmed thy memory 
To far-off times, sweet singer of the west. 
As now I stand, a pilgrim at thy grave, 
I own thy spirit's influence, as a weight 
Bowing my full soul to earth in reverence. 

In other days, a schoolboy at my task, 
I learned to love thy melody of verse. 
The face of nature in thy coloring 
Wore beauty so divine that, charmed, I could 
But read, what though to tempt my restless feet 
The bright May sunshine was abroad upon 
The green old hills and in the fragrant air, 
Rich with the sacrifice of bud and bloom. 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE 55 



With sigh of zephyr and with song of birds. 

As 1 have stood, in riper years, upon 

Bold Lookout's summit, where the rebel host 

In vain resisted Hooker and his men, 

I there have owned tlie magic of thy verse, 

That charm.s the historic spot, and gives to fame 

Perpetual the battle above the clouds. 

In Mammoth Cave, as, awestruck, I have gazed 

On its mysterious river, I have felt 

The witchery of thy song about me still; 

And, as the lambent torch has lighted up 

The jeweled archways and exposed to view 

Vast halls with more than orient splendor hung. 

That open in these subterranean realms. 

Thy thoughts have filled my mind amid the strange 

And solemn scenes that met my wondering gaze. 

Thy muse did not disdain to give the flower 
That blossoms lowliest in its secret nook. 
Its meed of praise. The human heart — its trusts. 
Its aspirations, its confiding love — 
Finds utterance in thy song. The wealth of hues 
The living landscape offers to the eye. 
Glows brightly on thy pictured page as on 
The painter's canvas wrought with master skill. 
The subtile harmony of sounds that swell 
Upon the bosom of the passing winds. 
The symphonies of earth and sea and sky, 
Are prisoned in thy verse, as in the shell 
The far, faint murmurings of old ocean. 



5^ GEORGE D. PRENTICE 



And yet thy genius was as the eagle: 
Its throne some mountain crag, it loved to trace 
The scowl of nature in the storm's eclipse, 
What time, above the haunts of meaner minds, 
It basked in sunlight and the purer air. 

The marble shaft marks not thy lowly tomb; 
But nature, mourning her true worshiper. 
Has planted here the blue-eyed violet. 
Thy memory is green in grateful hearts; 
And there may thy loved image dwell secure 
Till Time at last shall drop his glass and scythe, 
The sceptres of his long, eventful reign. 
To mingle with the ruin he hath wrought. 



MACKINAC ISLAND 



"TNCHANTED island of the north, 
No poet yet has sung thy worth, 
Nor trump of fame thy praise set forth. 



An emerald set in beryl seas. 
Thine is the gift the eye to please. 
Like apples of Hesperides. 



No wonder that the race has warred 
To win, by bloody rites adhorred. 
Thy lifted parapets, battle-scarred. 



In England and in France a name 

Secure in an immortal fame 

Of blended honor and of blame. 



The Jesuit Fathers here upreared 

The cross by Indians first revered. 

Their names to warring tribes endeared. 



5H MACKINAC ISLAND 



Still burn in memory's fadeless light 
The Indian watch-fires in the night, 
As beacons to the startled sight. 

At Mackinaw their last blow fell; 
And England still remembers well 
Their savage hate on fire of hell. 

We mark the spot of Holmes's fall 
(The earth-works his o'erlooking all 
The waters from its watch-tower tall), 

As ours to know the spell that lies 
In shore and wave and bended skies, 
In summer charm like Italy's. 

Deserted now, and yet supreme, 

F'ort Mackinac, as in a dream. 

Sees in the straits the navies gleam — 

The navies that some day shall ride 
The billowy waters deep and wide. 
And, anchoring, shall aye abide, 

Old Glory streaming in the sun 
O'er sentry swart and sunset gun. 
Unsullied as the centuries run. 



SHE SLEEPS BESIDE THE MOBILE SEA 



QHE sleeps beside the mobile sea 

Where blossoms blow incessantly; 
Where warm south-winds, with breath of myrrh 
And frankincense blow over her; 
Where ever and most plaintively 
The sad song of the restless sea 
Her requiem chants who loved full well 
In life its deep entrancing spell. 
She sleeps alone. Of all her kin 
Not one to twine the jessamin 
Above her grave, or bid it grow 
Their warm, undying love to show. 
Afar in other lands that knew 
Her girl-hood laughter, heart so true, 
They patient tend their flocks and wait, 
Alas, in vain, for her return 
From regions through whose Golden Gate 
All gloriously the sunsets burn. 



TO G. D. B. 



you ask me on the virgin page 
A brief yet parting line to trace. 
It will recall, you say, when age 

Has stanped its impress on your face, 



The dear old days that nevermore 
Shall cheer us with their glad return. 

But which shall live in dreams of yore 
As long as memory's altars burn. 



If, then, some humble word of mine 
Can cause, as if by magic power, 

The light of other days to shine 
At twilight's dim and mystic hour. 



I gladly trace it, and I pray 
As constant as the stars above 

May be our friendship, day by day. 
Kept by our heavenly Feather's love. 



TO G. D. B. 6l 



And when, uprising dark between. 

The mists of time obstruct our gaze, 
Whatever fades be fresh and green 

The memory of other days. 



Then let the vengeful fates decree 
What to their anger seemeth meet; 

'Mid desert sands we still shall see 
The past — a shady, cool retreat, 



Where mottled birds of paradise 

Make glad the welkin with their song, 

As glancing with a myriad dyes. 
The fountains murmur all day long. 



While overhead the leafy arch 

Invites repose — and not in vain — 

For feet grown weary with the march 
Across Sahara's burning plain. 



CUBA 



I JNHAPPY Cuba prone and bleeding lies, 

Spain's helpless victim and her ruthless spoil. 

Her martyr-blood cries from her trampled soil. 
Unto her prayer as brass the burning skies ! 
How long, O Lord, how long the piteous cries 

Of this lone slave in Freedom's fair domain? 

Break thou the tyrant's strong-linked chain, 
And bid our hapless sister-land arise. 

Drive from the shores of this new world of thine 

This old-world night-bird, last of all its line. 
Build thou within these boundless western seas. 

As thou hast built throughout four hundred years, 

In answer to thy people's prayers and tears, 
Time's last, best empire — thine and Liberty's. 



GIBBON 



UI E faced the sunset and the brooding night. 
The past arose majestic and sublime. 
He dwelt apart in royal Cssar's time. 

Rome's warring legions crowded on his sight, 

Or in the coliseum the deadly fight 

Of gladiators. He heard, to please the eye 
Of that mad king, Commodus, the death cry 

Of Christians fed to beasts in noon's bright light. 
Awhile he walked in gorgeous ruin's pall 
To write his pagan book, Decline and Fall. 

He mourned bereft, for, blind, he could not see 
The sunrise breaking over Judah's hills — 
The risen Sun whose beams shall heal our ills — 

Christ's gentle reign of peace and charity. 



AFTER AWHILE 



After awhile win the morning flush 
J Be dim in the sober light of noon; 
And in the gathering twilight hush 
Will end the long day's revelry soon. 



After awhile will the chrysalis, 

That lies enchained in its silken tomb, 

At the glowing sunbeam's magic kiss. 
Its wings unfurl a creature of bloom. 



After awhile will the tall grass wave, 

And the wild flowers, nodding, bud and bloom 

Over a lowly, unknown grave, 
Wrapped in oblivion's deepening gloom. 



After awhile a voice from afar 

Shall rend the tomb and the dead shall rise 
To enter in, through the gates ajar. 

The blissful abode, God's paradise. 



NOTES 



Bay View, Mich. Bay View, wholly a summer city 
of five thousand population, situated on terraces over- 
looking Little Traverse bay, is famous for its annual 
campmeeting, assembly and summer university. It 
is summer headquarters of the interdenominational 
Bay View Reading Circle of nearly seven thousand 
students from all parts of the country. Nature adds 
charms to attract and reinvigorate. 

Kentucky; to Miss S. E. Allen, Lexington; read 
on Kentucky Day at Bay View, August 13, 1897, at a 
reception tendered Col. George W. Bain, the noted 
temperance orator. 

Mackinac Island; to Mr. J. R. Hayes, whose guests 
describe the fairy island as the seat of the Grand Ho- 
tel. 

For third line in Love's Kiss, page 26, substitute: 
In that brief moment of young love's eclipse. 



EVELYN MAY BRIDGES 

BY C. S. R. 

At a sacred-song concert by Hendrix chapel M. E. 
Sunday school, Brazil, Ind., in the winter of 1886-7, 
a quartette rendered impressively the song, Christ 
Receiveth Sinful Men. A nine year old girl, who, 
with her classmates, was seated on the rostrum, at- 
tracted notice by her rapt attention. 

"If I could write a song like that," said she to her 
mother, "1 wouldn't care if I never wrote anything 
else." 

The little girl was Evelyn May Bridges. 

In 1880 she had somehow acquired the alphabet. 
Later she had become acquainted with current liter- 
ature through the magazines Wide Awake, St. Nich- 
olas, The Atlantic Monthly, Harper's Monthly, The 
Century and other high-grade periodicals. She had 
also read various books of poetry and short stories in 
her father's library. She had made no attempt at 
writing anything herself, although at eight years of 
age she had planned to write a fairy story, as a result 
of reading Grimm and Andersen. However, she had 
filled sixty octavo pages with disconnected passages 
of poetry and prose — choice bits of sentiment and re- 
flection — in part quotation, in part original. This 
book was usually kept in her play-house with dolls 
and toys. Some of the writing in it was done at too 
early an age for the writer herself to recall its origin. 

The Sunday following the concert, still under the 
influence of the song, she wrote, at one sitting and 
without an erasure, the poem, A Vision. At night 



IV EVELYN MAY BRIDGES 



she showed it to her mother who inquired as to its 
authorship. 

"I wrote it," she replied. 

"Was it a dream?" 

"No," was the reply. "I kept thinking about it, 
until I got my book and pencil and wrote it down." 

"It is very beautiful," said her mother. 

'■Well, mamma, if you think it is pretty I can write 
more." 

S!ie immediately added the last four lines. 

She had been suffering slightly for two or three 
days from a low type of malarial fever. The next 
day she was taken to Green Castle for treatment. 
The fever persisted for several weeks, with a high 
temperature. Fearing she might not recover, her 
[ I'cher sent A Vision to The Indianapolis News in 
wnich it was published with her name and age. 

The poem was extensively copied. The Cincin- 
nati Graphic News published it with a sketch and por- 
t/ait. It attracted the attention of literary people. 
When her fever had sufficiently subsided, she found 
in her mail letters of congratulation and sympathy 
from John Greenleaf Whittier, James Russell Lowell, 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, W.D. Howells, Ella Wheel- 
er Wilcox, Maurice Thompson, W. H. Venable, edit- 
ors of St. Nicholas, Wide Awake and Youth's Com- 
]:)anion, and others, whom she had learned to love 
through their writings; while Edmu id Clarence Sted- 
man, the eminent poet-critic, wrote to her father: 

"Her little poem is very sweet and shows great pre- 
cocity, and contains a touching yet I hope groundless 
premonition. Meanwhile, let me say I dread and dis- 
trust precocity in these darlings of our hearts; and I 
entreat you to follow out your plan of securing, above 
a 1 things, May's equal physical development." 



EVELYN MAY liklDGES Vli 



The jToem foLiid a permanent place in \arioi s ccn - 
pilations of American poetry. In a dainty book et it 
appeared, on official request, with the woiks of Ind- 
iana authors at the World's Fair. 

May was born in the parsonage of the M. F . chur.h 
at Pleasantville, Ind., February 12, 1877. lu April 
following she and her mother were remov^ed to Green 
Castle, where they remained till fall, when the fami- 
ly was r' united at Monrovia. The Future Good be- 
longs t' hose dark da\--;. To escape persistent ma- 
laria, ai. j to secure halthful maturity to the on'-^- 
child, the itinerant life was exchanged in 1881 for a 
settled residence in Brazil. This residence was in- 
terrupted by periodical outing s asons in Wis'o- sin 
Minnesota, and in the mountains of Virginia, iiclud- 
ing White Sulphur Springs and Natural Bridge, also 
Richmond and Old Point Comfort. In July, 1890. a 
permanent summer home was established at Bay 
View, Mich. The following winter an acute attack 
of the grip was succeeded by a lingering fe\er, with 
indications of tuberculosis of the lungs. A luuried 
removal to Colorado Springs, Colo., resulted. Here 
hope and fear alternated in the battle of life unti', 
on January 4, 1894, heart-failure ended the struggle. 

May's school life was limited to twenty months. 
Apt to learn, she advanced rapidly to the High 
School grade. She was permitted to attend school 
for the sake of associations, which she fully appreci- 
ated. It is gratifying to her parents to know that 
her personal interest in her schoolmates was returned. 

She early formed high literary ideals from ac- 
quaintance with numerous standard books, ancient 
and modern. The book of nature attracted her. She 
loved wild life and all wild things. Her human in- 
terest was her ruling passion. Had she lived, her life 



EVELYN MAY BRIDGES 



would have been devoted to up-lifting our race: her 
songs would have been songs of cheer. 

Her pastor, the Rev. H. E. Warner, of the First M. 
E. church, Colorado Springs, said: 

"It would be difficult to find a more beautiful and 
attractive character. She was developed far beyond 
her age. To meet her was to come in contact with a 
superior spirit. Keen and mature in intellect, re.lned 
and exalted in taste, intense in feeling, ardent in be- 
nevolence, clear and intelligent in faith, the church 
and the world can illy afford her loss." 

The following beautiful tribute by Mr. William R. 
Jacobs, the poet, bears date of February 12, 1894: 



IN MEMORIAM 



Within sweet Fancy's fragmentary barque 

We sailed ideal seas, and anchored where 
The firefly signaled with its lustrous spark 

And bade us ramble in the balmy air. 
Where sang the voiceful nightingale, and bloomed 

A myriad flowers, where petals winged the breeze 
And floated off on zephyrs, full perfumed, 

To scent the pathless meadows of the seas. 

In Fancy's phaeton driven by some mute 

Utopian horseman, oft beyond man's view. 
We crossed in silent ecstasy the Ute, 

And passed the darkened cots of Manitou; 
And when the autumn sun in that fair clime 

Shone warmly on the purple mountain-side. 
We tuned our fairy harps, and fashioned rhymes 

That kindled pathos that shall aye abide. 



IN MEMORIAM vii 



But now 1 sail the still and plaintive sea 

Of Fancy in a ship where no light gleams — 
Companionless I sail, and memory 

Returns to where we met in summer dreams. 
The plans we made are broken, as the wave 

That beats itself to pieces on the sand; 
For she has gone where I but through the grave 

C in ever hope to grasp her welcome hand. 

Adown the valleys of the Great Divide 

The shoes of horses sparkle in the moon; 
The noiseless phaeton, like a phantom, glides 

Along the solemn highway, and the tune 
Of dripping waters, like the fall of tears, 

Is heard to echo in the sombre clods 
That lay like spectral faces, where appears 

The Gateway to the Garden of the Gods. 

And where the sun paints pictures on the skies 

O'er Mount Cheyenne, there stands a cottage drear 
From which no more Sweet Hour of Prayer shall rise 

Upon the chilly new-hours of the year. 
There hangs the crayon with the eyes of blue — 

The mellow, sad blue eyes we loved to see — 
And there's the needle in the doilie, too, 

Just as she left it — for eternity. 

There are the gowns that made her look a queen; 

The shoes of red, and blue, and white, and tan; 
And gloves and ties of many shades are seen 

Just as she left them when the night hour ran 
Into the morn, and o'er the apices 

Of rugged steeps the spirit took its flight 
T' th' far-off city, while the solemn trees 

Of mountains tossed, and sky-line donned its white. 



IN MEMORIAM 



The gilded cage contains the same small bird 

Whose song commingled with the voice of Ma}-; 
And by the fire-place sleeps the cat, unstirred 

By fond caresses, dreaming all the day. 
Within the stable, restless, is her Fern, 

The horse she drove through many a sylvan lane; 
And oft he neighs, then lists the child's return 

But stars that shoot we cannot place again. 

Against the wall the old guitar, unstrung. 

From day to day awaits the wonted touch; 
And by the window, where ofttimes she sung, 

The hushed piano stands — and oh, how much 
Is left to tell the sad, sweet story o'er! 

As here and there her handiwork appears 
In sundry hues, suffice to ope the door 

Of stoic eyes that have not wept for years. 

Now all is over! Plans perfected dashed 

To pieces on the rocks of Circumstance! 
The waves that yester on the lighthouse splashed 

Today in softer, fresher swells, perchance. 
Are drifting in the ether, far above 

The rocks, the wrecks, the roaring of the sea; 
And so with May. — From suffering, by love 

Ascendeth to her "blessed immortality." 



Po?ms oi/k. F. Bridges 



POEMS. 8x53^, 72 pp, illustrated, nicely printed 
from new, large type on extra heavy super cal- 
endared paper; paper 50c, cloth Si. 25. 

Ready December i, 1898. 
A SOLDIER'S FAREWELL TO HLS OLD 

FLAG,(poem),6x8, 32pp; frontispiece, halftone 
reproduction of Th. Nast's famous historic mas- 
ter-painting, Appomattox, or Peace in Union, 
illustrated, edition de luxe, $2. 

The poem touches graphically, so as to preserve the 
names and distinctive characteristics, decisive 
battles and leading generals of the late war, with- 
out effort at detail. Several }^ears afterward, a pri- 
vate in an Indiana regiment, who was then dying 
of a consumption whose foundation was laid in 
army life, visited the state library at Indianiipolis 
and called for his old regimental colors. Its silken 
folds, bullet-tern and powder-burnt, were shaken 
from the splintered staff. With uncovered head, 
the soldier took his tearful farewell in silence. 
The poem is dedicated to unpensioned federal sol- 

, diers, )'et it contains only good will to the south, 
whose brave sons are justly celebrated for the same 
qualities of heart here extolled. 

Straiiir$ prifitit}^ (Jo. 

Qolof^do Sprili^^, Qolo. 

319 S. Wahsatch Ave. 



EVEt^Y DAY I 
SERIES 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




015 861 980 5 g 




JOHN B. CRAFT, JR. 



No. I. Total Wreck. 8x 
5/^. PP 32, paper loc. 

A character once familiar 
in the Brazil, Ind., mining 
region. Christ's power to 
save to the uttermost is ex- 
emplified. Glimpses of min- 
ing life, strikes, etc., are 

found. ,2t_^ 

ii»/--.>- .«■■»'. 

No. 2. John B. Craft, Jr. 
8x5^, pp 20, paper loc. 
Second edition. 

The first edition of this 
wonderful redeemed life, 
1000 copies, sold in Brazil 
and Rising Sun, in Indiana, 
on its appearance in 1889. 
Mr. Craft has since died. 

One faithful transcript from 
life, such as this, is worth 
all the fiction extant — 
Francis Murph}'. 



319 S. Wahsatch Ave 



StfaVf$ pritilili^ Qo. 

(Jolorddo Spriiiflj, (Jolo. 



